Page 105 of Harper

She wiggles her feet out of her boots and grins at me. “About an hour ago.”

“Roads bad yet?”

“They’re still okay for now.”

A sluice of heat slides through me when I realize that she might have to stay over tonight. I know we can’t have sex, but that’s the only thing off the table. There are plenty of other ways for us to pleasure each other, and I’ve been contemplating all of them for weeks.

“It looks nice, Joe,” she says, gesturing to the table. “Smells good, too.”

“I made a roast.”

“Ooo! Yum.”

“Want some sparkling cider?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says, rubbing her hands together. “I’d love some.”

I head into the kitchen, taking out the only two champagne glasses I own and filling them both with fizzy apple juice. When I try to hand one to her, she gasps suddenly, placing her hands on her belly and giggling with surprise.

“Is everything okay?”

She looks up at me with wide eyes and a beaming smile.

“She’s kicking,” Harper whispers.

“What?”

“Wren,” says Harper, her voice filled with wonder. “She’s kicking.”

I stand before her, frozen, staring at her belly like it holds alien life. I know that babies kick, of course. I’ve read that it feels like a flutter. But seeing Harper experience the sensation makes it a million times more real.

With a soft chuckle, Harper takes the flutes from my hands and places them on the kitchen counter. Then she takes my palms and presses them against the side of her stomach, her own hands flush over mine.

“Give it a second. Maybe she’ll do it again.”

And then—oh my god—I feel it, less like the flutter of angel’s wings I’ve read about, and more like the knee of a linebacker.

“Wow!” I say, my head whipping up. “She’s strong!”

“Uh-huh. Try getting a kick like that to the bladder.”

“No, thanks,” I say, pressing down a little harder and hoping for another jab. “Is this okay? Am I hurting you? Is she?”

“Neither of you are hurting me,” she says. “Oh! There’s another!”

“Oh my god! I felt it, too!”

“She’s going to be a soccer player,” says Harper. “Just like her big sister.”

I look up in time to see the shadow fall over Harper’s face.

I’ve noticed that whenever one of us mentions Moriah Raven, it kills whatever good vibe is happening between us. We both get quiet. Warm feelings seem to go cold. Harper looks scared and guilty. I used to get moody and detached, but it’s time to break that cycle. It’s time to figure out a way to talk about Moriah Raven without guilt on her part or acrimony on mine, and it’s up to me to make that happen.

Keeping my hands on Harper’s stomach, I tell her I heard from Denise today.

“You did?” I hear her swallow. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Everything’s good. They’re not sure she’ll believe in Santa next year so they’re doing a big Christmas this year.”

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